The Soldier....

I was sitting in a restaurant and a man caught my eye.  I saw him, at first, from behind.  I noticed as he turned his head a bit, something was different.  Then he stood to go refill his drink and I saw him full on.  In an instant I had tears in my eyes.  I looked down, began to blink, and could hardly stand it.  No doubt, this man is a soldier, but even more apparent, a survivor.  It took everything in me not to run up to him and hug him.  I sat there trying to catch my breath and let it all sink in.... and I was overwhelmed.  The main reason I didn't follow through with the hug, is for some reason, I got a deep sense of urgency that this man was trying to find a way back to normal life.  My running up as a total stranger, hugging him and crying hysterically, probably was not in his life pre-war.  So I let my eyes linger only but a moment on him, then I looked down, said a quiet prayer of the deepest thanksgiving, and tried to overcome the lump in my throat.

You see, his face was extremely disfigured, large areas of hair were missing with scars as replacement, one ear barely even there and the other not a typical ear either.  He walked with a limp and he seemed to struggle with one arm.  It was apparent from his physical appearance that he had been through something deeply tragic and excessively costly.  But that is not what let me know for certain he was a soldier.  There was something more.

It wasn't his clothing.  He was wearing civilian clothes... typical jean shorts and a T shirt.  That wasn't the clue.  He wasn't wearing a purple heart for the world to see.  He wasn't carrying a flag.  He wasn't even trying to be noticed.  Nope... it wasn't anything he was doing that let me know this was a result of war.  Instead, it was the woman he was with.  It was the way she looked at him and adored him.  It was the way she saw nothing disfigured about him, but obviously saw right straight in to his heart with total love.  And it was the way she watched him walk towards the coke machine that just screamed of her joy that he was there...walking... towards anything. 

I don't know them at all.  I don't know where they are from or if I will ever see them again.  And I don't know their story,, but I am telling you, just by how she loved him and how he walked with such purpose and humbleness all swirled together, I knew I was in the presence of a hero.  And it overtook me.  I sat there looking down, processing all of this, and somehow all I could think was how much I loved this man I don't even know.  Look what he gave for my freedom.  For my children's freedom.  For those in Iraq to have freedom.  I have cried many times watching heroes return home... both alive and covered in a flag... but there was something completely earth shaking about sitting right there with this guy who obviously just narrowly escaped death. 

And it got me to thinking....

My oldest son, my broken adopted child in a 17-year-old's body, is about to enter his last year of High School.  He has fought many strongholds from his cruel beginning and has many left to overcome and we pray for his victory on a daily basis.  And as he enters his Senior year of high school, one of the future plans on the very near radar, is the marines.  He has talked of it for a couple of years now, and though he goes back and forth, he still gravitates back towards that being his plan of choice.  And as his parents, that is our deepest desire, for him to go military.  We have felt all along that he will not suddenly just be "ready" just because he turns 18 to live in a way that he has no one to answer too.  We feel the military will be a great way to continue to grow up, yet still have accountability to keep him focused.  It is something he needs as he continues in his healing from his pre-adoption years. 

As I processed this man and this situation, my son came rushing to my mind.  Military.  Marines.  Desire for infantry to be his job.  War.  Senior.  Graduation.  18 next summer.  War! Suddenly my son's face and this man's face were trading places.  Suddenly the mother in me felt panic and fear.  Yes, I want him to have guidance and direction and especially accountability, but war?  WAR?  I felt myself processing far too much in far to little amount of time and things were starting to churn from my mind, to my heart, to my stomach. 

I looked back up as the man made his way back to his table and almost as quick as I almost lost control, I gained it back watching him return to his table.  Something about his walk let me know, he would do it again... and again and again and again... if asked.  Something about the way he walked reminded me, no cost is too much unless it is living with the cost of not doing what it is we are meant to do. 

As I have reflected further on it, here is where I am.  It may be the marines that we are waiting on to finally totally and completely heal my son of the demons from his biological past.  God already knows what needs to be done.  If He has ordained marines, then who I am to fear it?  How much more should I fear NOT going marines, if in fact that is God's direction?  What then would happen to my son that would be far worse than an earthly war?  I am not willing to even try to entertain the answers that question could bring. 

This man was a soldier.  I don't know what branch.  I don't know what job.  But I know, from my gut, he was.  And even after all the sacrifice and all the certain nightmares... or day-mares... that he must endure as he lives in the post traumatic stress of what he went through, saw, and experienced.... he walks with purpose.  And no doubt, he would not walk that way had he not done what he was meant to do.  I don't know him, but somehow, deep in me, I know that about him. 

From there my thoughts flood through each one of my children, so unique.  How crystal clear it is, even within my own family that our purpose is individual and that path that we journey with God is totally tailored with the plan of using us for His purpose... HIS PURPOSE.  This soldier could walk with purpose because obviously his very presence exude the awareness that even though he was suffering, he was more at peace this way than if he had not been through it... because it was his journey of purpose.

My little Tuffy was three years old and sicker than sick.  But he was more at peace in it than I could have dreamed because it was his journey of purpose.  And most of the people that I find myself drawn too and intrigued with, seem to have one shared description as well... they are in the midst of their purpose.  And quite frankly, when I am most at peace  it has nothing to do with the easy stuff.  It is when I am in the midst of those battles I am living through, where I face them knowing somehow it will work out because it is my journey of purpose.  Something bigger is at play.  Something glorious is at the end. 

I have always been deeply patriotic.  My daddy instilled that pride in me (he is a veteran!) and as I have grown older and seen war in my lifetime, it has only deepened.  But today, my patriotism collided with reality and I am better because of that man and the woman so grateful to have him home. 

As school starts Monday, I will go to war for my kids (my student-kids) again, for this is where I have been called again for His purpose.  As I tuck my youngest in tonight, I will go to war for her in prayer.  As I listen to my freshmen son, my first born to me, sing and live life with such wisdom for his age, I will go to war on his behalf.  As I find moments of connection with my struggling older two adopted kiddos, I will hold on to the moments of hope God gives and I will continue to go to war using the WORD of my LORD.  It is my purpose.  As I hug my husband, pray for our parents, share life with my friends, forgive those who have mistreated, reach out to my neighbors, and, and, and.... I will go to war... for it is in the willingness to humble ourselves to our purpose in Christ at any cost that victory and peace are found.

My Tuffy knew this... not in his earthly wisdom, but in his spirit.  He somehow just knew his little life had purpose and he met each day as a soldier of joy.  And because of that many, many lives were changed... some so much that they are going to heaven now when before they weren't.... and his ravaged body, til the very last breath he took, carried such purpose that the disease always... ALWAYS took a backseat to the joy that was always first. 

I am thankful tonight for another moment of God-appointed, path-crossings where He humbled me to my core and reminded me why it is I am on this earth.  I have a purpose.  We all do.  May we walk, with all of our scars, whether visible or hidden, much like my Tuffy and this stranger today.... in a way that screams.... it is more than this life can show.

Heaven Bound....

Robin